“What did you give her?”I ask.
“Vinnie’s card.Judge Matthews works with the Gallo family.She’s a trusted friend.”
I blink a few times.“Right.I guess I knew that.It’s how Vinnie was able to get our divorce so quickly.”
The clerk returns.“Judge Matthews can see you, but she’s due in court in an hour.”
“That will be plenty of time,” Raven says with a smile.“Thank you so much”—she glances at the nameplate—“Judy.”
Judy nods.“You’re welcome.Follow me, please.”
The judge’s chambers is exactly how I remember it—warm and quiet with dark wood paneling, shelves packed with legal volumes, and an oversized mahogany desk.
“Ms.Bellamy,” Judge Matthews says to Raven.“Ms.Agudelo.”She tilts her head.“You look like women who don’t have time to be here.”
“We don’t,” Raven says.“And we’re grateful you were able to see us so promptly.”
The judge gestures to the chairs.“Sit.Tell me quickly.”
Raven looks to me.“Dani, go ahead.”
I clear my throat.“When I was here getting the divorce from Vinnie, you said that Federal law states that if you were a victim of a severe form of trafficking, you may be allowed to stay in the United States.You need to have suffered past harm that was so severe it would be cause for ‘extreme hardship’ were you to return home.”
She nods slowly.“Yes, I did say that.And it’s the truth.”
“Well…I was visited by someone from DHS, Officer Leona Patel.”I hand her the papers.“She told me they determined that there’s insufficient evidence that I face danger if I’m removed to Colombia.That my temporary protected status was revoked and I could be deported at any time.”
Judge Matthews flips through the documents, her expression flattening with every page.By the fourth sheet she snorts.At the last, her mouth goes sharp.
“This is garbage.”She taps the corner of the top page.“Wrong seal.Wrong signature block.No case number where you’d expect it, and the templating still usesDear Respondentin the salutation.”She smirks.“DHS doesn’t template like that anymore.They haven’t in years.”
Cold relief slides through me so fast I sway.“So my status?—?”
“Stands,” she says, already at her computer.“I entered it myself.It’s in the system.It hasn’t even been reviewed by DHS yet.If anyone pulled it, there’d be a trail.I see nothing of the sort, which means no one pulled it.”She continues to type.“I’m flagging your file.If anything changes, we’ll be notified.But nothing should change.You can work and remain here in town while you pursue permanent residence.”
I grip the chair arm.“Thank you,” I manage.
Raven leans forward.“Your honor, could there have been a clerical hiccup?Some federal?—”
“No,” Judge Matthews says.“If two agencies want to fight, they fight with memos and jurisdictional chest-thumping, not with a woman in a suit at a private residence after business hours.”
I close my eyes.The scene on the porch snaps back in brutal high-definition—badge flash, flat tone, the smell of panic.
“Besides,” the judge says, “I know everyone at our local DHS office, and I’ve never heard of Leona Patel.What did she look like?”
“Thirty-something,” I say.“She wore a dark suit—I think it was navy blue—with a silver badge.Her hair was dark and twisted back.”I shake my head.“She seemed professional.Like she’d done it a thousand times.”
“She’s donesomethinga thousand times,” the judge says dryly.She swivels to her printer and grabs a form.“I’ll draft a judicial notice confirming your status and the authenticity of my prior order.If anyone bothers you again, you carry this like a shield.You keep a copy with any employer.You hand one to any officer who thinks he can bark louder than the law.”
My heart lifts and then stutters.
Raven sees it.“What?”
I look down at my hands.“Why,” I ask slowly, “would someone build a fake case so flimsy a judge could spot it from across the room?”
“Because they’re sloppy,” Raven says immediately.“Because they underestimated you.Because criminals are idiots.”
I shake my head.The answer is a stone dropping through a well.The splash hits my gut.“No,” I whisper.“Because the paper wasn’t the point.”
